


Gummy Candy

by lamellae



Series: DGD [3]
Category: Dance Gavin Dance (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, RPF, content warning for weed again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 23:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20348272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamellae/pseuds/lamellae
Summary: Someone gets a little too high.





	Gummy Candy

Jon was irritated. Not that it showed on his face, aside from his furrowed brows, but the sight and situation of the giddy man in front of him was starting to shorten his temper. He could barely piece what Tilian was saying through the latter’s sudden laughter and tangents, as if the usual fidgeting, amplified now with unusual energy, wasn’t distracting enough. He wouldn’t stop chattering, apparently unable to notice Jon’s lack of response. Jon took in a breath, interrupting Tilian’s monologue.

“Okay, okay—let’s try this again—what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I—I _told_ you, I had an edible like, I dunno—two hours ago?” A laugh. “And—and I think it _just_ hit me, I’m really, really not here, in my head—”

Jon sighed again, taking a single step backwards. Tilian stepped forwards in response. “Fuck off, I haven’t even had anything yet, I don’t wanna fucking babysit you.”

Jon knew it was a little harsh to say it like that, but getting through to the other man through the high required some bluntness. This backfired when Tilian’s expression turned to that of a kicked puppy. Jon cringed internally. “Wh—Jon, _please_, can you just, I dunno—I need to sit down, can you at least come with me?”

Jon could feel himself weakening to the other man’s pathetic groveling—_fuck these feelings_—and softened his expression somewhat. Jon figured that nobody needed to see them arguing like this. He groaned, covering his eyes with his hand for a brief moment. He then sighed, grabbing the edge of Tilian’s sleeve, pulling him over to some chairs around a dining table in the kitchen. Tilian followed clumsily behind, shuffling his feet. When they finally sat down, Tilian let out a sigh of relief. He looked at Jon, and upon viewing his less-than-pleased expression, let out a laugh. He gripped Jon’s pinky finger under the table in apology for a few seconds, his wobbly smile belying that he did at least feel a little bad, even if he couldn’t necessarily articulate it. Tilian then released Jon’s hand, and turned to his other side, spontaneously engaging in conversation with other partygoers. Jon crossed his arms, and watched.

This wasn’t even a particularly big party—not one you should get wasted at, in any case. It was a tour party, for a tour they weren’t even _on_, but Jon and Tilian were both invited, and Jon was now mad at himself for agreeing to come. Because he could have been at home right now, doing literally anything else, but now he had to tripsit a dipshit. A dipshit he cared about, but a dipshit nonetheless. Jon wondered how dense those edibles must have been to have made Tilian this out of it.

_Well, Tilian is tall, but when you take into account bodyfat—plus, did he eat? What kind of edible was it? Who _gave_ him the edible—_

“Hey, Jon—” Tilian chirped, interrupting Jon’s thoughts. He turned to face the latter man with a smile. “Do you know where the uh, the water is?” He let out a laugh.

“Uh,” Jon became momentarily distracted by the other man’s soft, sheepish expression, before continuing. “I’ll just get you some. Sit tight.”

Upon his return, with several bottles of water, he found Tilian had placed his feet in the chair Jon had been sitting in. Jon stared down at Tilian blankly. Tilian grinned up at Jon, patting his thighs.

Jon grimaced. “I am _not_ doing that.”

“C’moooon!”

“Fuck off.”

Tilian smiled, and let out a playful whine. “But, Jo-on!”

Jon felt his stomach flip at the sound. Tilian grinned, indicating that Jon’s shock was the intended response. Jon threw a water bottle at the other man, who only just barely caught it as it collided with his chest. Jon moved to the other end of the dining table, sitting in an unoccupied chair. He rested his chin in his hand, glaring at Tilian, silently fuming.

“It was a joke!” Tilian said with a giggle. The band members and groupies sitting around him laughed. One in particular, who Jon only kind-of recognized, lightly smacked the back of Tilian’s head, them both chuckling.

“You guys are so fucking funny,” he laughed, “it’s nice to see band members that actually like each other for once.”

“He tests me,” Jon remarked from the other end of the table, gritting his teeth.

Tilian grinned. “Oh, but he _loves_ it!” He followed this with a bought of uncontrolled giggles.

Jon whipped another water bottle at Tilian, this one clocking the latter man in the shoulder, ricocheting onto the table, before rolling to a stop halfway between them. The small crowd erupted into laughter, Jon putting on a face of bemusement as if to play along. He really _was _pissed at Tilian in any case, even if the man _was_ high out of his mind—every time they joked about this shit around others, Jon felt Tilian always went a bit too far, always a bit too close to the actual truth. Too much jokey flirting, too much physicality, too many implicatory euphemisms. Tilian was _always_ being too much, and him being under the influence made Jon even more anxious about a little too much truth coming out. Jon gripped at the hem of his shirt, unseen under the table, as he continued his observation of the other man.

Some time passed, and the crowd around Tilian eventually thinned, and moved out to more active parts of the house. Tilian pulled out his phone as the last member of his entourage slipped away. Jon felt his phone buzz.

Jon rolled his eyes. “C’mon, dude, I’m right here.”

Tilian just looked up at him silently, grinning.

Of course, what Jon sees upon opening Snapchat is a message from the other man:

“Wanna fool around?”

“here??”

“Duh”

Jon felt himself redden. He felt a little bit more anger rise up in him at Tilian’s boldness.

“i hate u”

Tilian sent a sticker of his Bitmoji blowing kisses.

The two slipped off upstairs, keeping paces apart. Tilian ended up in the closet at the end of the hallway first, pulling Jon in just before the latter stepped past.

Tilian clumsily pinned Jon to the door by his wrists, grinning at him with intent, his eyes heavy-lidded. Jon took a quick glance around the closet—there was barely enough space for one person, let alone two; it was obvious this was holiday storage, with a tree and some lights squeezed into a box in the corner. A coatrack hung a foot to his left, bereft of coats. The rest of the space was filled with cardboard boxes. Jon prayed that he wasn’t gonna break his ankle in here.

Tilian pressed his lips to Jon’s, still smiling wide. Jon pushed back, feeling Tilian’s grip on his wrists loosen, letting his hands fall to the sides of Tilian’s face. He pulled Tilian closer, lingering at their meetings long enough to leave them both desperate for air after their separations, gasping between kisses. Jon licked at Tilian’s lips, letting his tongue explore freely; he was grateful to have hydrated Tilian prior. He recoiled internally at the thought of having to tongue his cottonmouth. Tilian pushed at Jon aggressively, internally and externally; he pressed his chest to the latter, pressing him tight against the door, gripping hard at Jon’s sides, his fingers digging deep into Jon’s soft hips. The door creaked quietly in response to the pressure. Jon felt quite delightfully helpless, and controlled, his body warm, breath shaking. Tilian hummed for a moment, licking his lips, then moved to Jon’s collarbone, pushing down his jacket and the collar of his tee. Jon let out a gasp in surprise at the almost feral motion of Tilian over his chest, his bites fervent and aggressive. Jon noted the other man was biting _particularly_ hard, today, perhaps because he couldn’t really tell; maybe Tilian wasn’t even specifically aware of how intense he was being in the moment in general. The collar of Jon’s shirt was fucked, stretched out as to show _way_ too much shoulder upon Tilian pulling away. Jon pulled at it self-consciously, watching Tilian as the latter moved in the darkness.

Tilian stepped back, perhaps with the intent to position Jon more gainfully, but was violently separated from the other after putting his weight on some unstable footing (Jon supposed it must have been another box), making him stumble backwards, then forwards, twisting, almost falling straight into the door handle before Jon caught him under his arms, Tilian’s back now to other man. Tilian breathed hard for a moment, gripping tight at Jon’s hand, and at the coatrack to the side. Jon felt his heart pounding in his chest, getting an image in his head of the near-death scenario he just witnessed proceeding fully as if he’d not caught the other man. The picture of Tilian bleeding out in a closet stuck in his mind for a hard moment. He held onto the taller man as tight as he could, as the two caught their breaths.

“Fuck, dude,” Tilian mumbled, clearly shaken. He tried standing up further, but his shaking legs betrayed him, requiring him to still put most of his weight onto Jon. Jon felt Tilian breathing heavy in his chest, and realized, quite abruptly, that he literally had Tilian all in his hands at that moment. He felt a sudden rush. Tilian seemed to relax in his hands, breathing softly. He looked up at Jon over his shoulder. His pupils, widened in the dark light, gave him a soft, sweet look. He breathed out a quiet laugh, nudging his head gently into Jon's chin.

Jon pulled him closer, pressing his cheek to the top of Tilian’s head. Jon gazed down at him, fully understanding his new, current desires. He smiled wide, Tilian’s expression shifting to confusion in response. Jon then slowly lowered one of his hands, reaching under Tilian’s shirt, feeling up his middle, pressing on him softly. Tilian let out a controlled sigh, smiling wide, leaning more heavily onto Jon. The latter let his hand over Tilian’s chest, grabbing roughly at his pec, pinching at where he guessed his nipple was. Tilian exhaled once more, biting his lip. Tilian put more of his weight onto Jon’s arm, pressing himself against the other’s hand.

Jon’s other hand ended up at Tilian’s crotch, and he grabbed hard at the latter’s cock through his jeans, causing him to squirm under Jon’s touch. Tilian moaned softly, his voice pitching up the slightest bit. The noises were getting to Jon; he felt himself warm, his own breath catch in his throat.

_Is this just from the high?_

_Does he just suppress it, usually?_

“You’re pretty vocal, today, huh?” Jon breathed in amusement. He figured, if he was going to assert himself physically, he might as well verbalize that control as well.

Tilian warmed, gripping tight at Jon's hand under his shirt. Jon could feel the other man sweat heavily, making his hold on him precarious; he assured his hold on Tilian by pressing on his chest more intensely, gripping at him quite roughly, fingers pushing deep into Tilian’s pec. Tilian let out another moan, pushing himself against Jon, the latter feeling Tilian’s stuttered breaths in his chest. In response to Jon’s comment, Tilian could only let out a quiet grunt of affirmation before whining out Jon’s name softly, pressing his hips up against Jon’s hand.

“Well, be good, and keep it down,” Jon muttered, feeling an excitement rise up in himself at the degree of control he suddenly possessed. He usually didn't talk—he didn't usually take charge, either. But he could get used to bossing Tilian around, like this. He could feel his hardon; Tilian apparently hadn't noticed, yet.

Tilian responded with a quick, awkward nod, and biting his lip even harder, in an attempt to keep himself quiet. His breathing was sharp, and short. ”Y, yeah, I'll, I'll be good, okay? I’ll be good, for you.”

Jon thought he was going to melt, at that. He brought his hand away from Tilian’s cock, to his opposite hip, pressing into him, pulling him closer. Tilian placed his hand over Jon’s, replacing it over his dick, begging for Jon to just _touch_ him more, pressing Jon’s hand hard against himself. Jon pulled Tilian's hand away, who obeyed, gripping tight at his own shirt instead.

“Please, please Jon—” Tilian whispered, interrupting himself with a hard exhale. His quick breaths were accompanied by more soft whines.

_What a fucking rush._

Jon felt like he was going to explode. He went back to Tilian’s dick, rubbing him softly through his jeans.

“Stop, stop messing around,” Tilian continued.

“What did I say?” Jon mused, removing his hand from Tilian's chest, the latter holding himself up on the coatrack. Jon unzipped Tilian's jeans, pulling out the latter's cock; he was barely hard (another effect of the high, Jon guessed), but his briefs were sticky with pre, and he was just so, so warm.

Another exhale, and a high-pitched, quiet whine, “Jon—”

“You're just so, so desperate, I know,” Jon continued, stroking Tilian's cock. “You can't even say anything but my name, huh?”

Tilian nodded, thrusting into Jon's hand. His skin was slick with sweat, his shirt soaked. He was still pretty soft—Jon knew it was going to take a bit to get him to actually come. He was amazed they even got this far—though he supposed it was a testament to just _how_ turned on Tilian was, that even as high as he was, he was able to keep it up this long.

Another mewl of Jon's name escaped Tilian's lips. Jon brought his free hand back up.

“You have to be quiet, Til, remember? Are you even trying to keep down?”

“I—I know, I just—”

“Nobody needs to know how needy you are,” Jon said through a wry grin. “What are we gonna do if people find out you love being bossed around like this, huh?”

Jon rested his hand around Tilian's jaw for a brief moment. He felt Tilian's hot, sporadic breaths fall over his fingers. He forced them into Tilian's mouth, tightening his grip on his jaw by pressing his thumb up against the other man's chin. Tilian let out a surprised, but now greatly muffled, groan in response. Jon could feel Tilian’s hands shaking against his own sides.

_How the tables have turned._

Jon now stroked Tilian's cock with greater intent, grinding his own covered erection against Tilian's ass. He could feel warm spit flowing down his wrist, and over Tilian's chin, to his minor disgust. He didn't want to make Tilian gag by pushing too far back into the other man's mouth (though he was pretty far back in there, already… ), but gently pressing on his tongue seemed to elicit a positive enough response. Tilian, for his part, had quieted down enough, only letting quick, quiet squeaks out every few thrusts. Jon noted that the other man had finally gotten hard, and picked up his pace in accordance. Jon was careful with his breaths.

“Look at _you_, god,” he mumbled, stroking Tilian roughly. “So fucking desperate.”

Tilian jerkily nodded, his hands weakly held above Jon’s own. Jon noticed Tilian pick up his pace, his needy sounds almost completely replaced by soft, short breaths. Jon pressed his fingers further into Tilian’s mouth, holding harder onto his jaw. Tilian released a short, airy yelp before biting, hard, onto Jon's fingers as he came, blinding Jon in the pain. Jon pulled his hand away from Tilian's mouth, stroking him out through his orgasm. Tilian held onto the coatrack for a few moments, before his legs weakened once more, but without Jon there to catch him, it brought him down to his knees.

Jon nursed his bruised fingers for a moment, wincing in pain. Glancing down, he saw Tilian turn, wiping at his face with his shirt, cleaning up the drool around his mouth. Jon leaned down, taking Tilian’s face into his hands. The latter man looked up at him softly, eyes heavy-lidded, face red and glistening with sweat. He swallowed, putting his hands on top of Jon’s. He smiled wide, lips tight in amusement.

“That was really hot, you know.“

Jon could only let out a quiet grunt of affirmation. He was in disbelief at his own actions. His heart was still pounding from the adrenaline rush, from the feeling of full control.

They stared at each other for a minute or two, Tilian’s breath slowing to normal. He gently brushed at Jon’s hands.

Tilian then slowly pushed past them, reaching to unzip the latter’s jeans. Jon could feel the other man grabbing hard at his own cock. Jon felt a degree of apprehension—he lightly resisted Tilian’s advances, pulling his hands away, pushing away his face with his free hand. Tilian responded with an indignant whine, holding back Jon’s other hand, bringing his face closer to Jon’s cock, his own strength overcoming Jon’s easily. Jon was painfully hard, sure, and _god_ did he want to facefuck Tilian _so_ bad, but—

“N, no, c’mon, dude, you’re too fucked up, I—"

“Oh, just shut up,” Tilian murmured, “let me suck your dick.”

“T-Til, I—"

And Jon kept resisting, for a moment, but Tilian got his mouth around Jon’s cock, and Jon’s voice fell away to a sharp inhale. Jon slipped the hand on Tilian’s face up into the latter’s hair, grabbing tight at the long, slick strands. Tilian was slow, and deliberate, belying the fact he’s never done this before in his hesitation. Jon watched him avidly, pulling him back and forth, guiding his pace. Jon thought it was cute, how concentrated the other man looked in his task, his mouth full of cock. It was so sweet, and so overwhelming, watching Tilian clearly struggle to keep his pace, to do a good job, to _please_ Jon, that in his excitement, Jon thrust forward, hard.

Tilian gagged, pulling away, looking just a mess as earlier, spit and pre around his mouth. Jon let go of his hair, taking Tilian’s face once more into his hands. Tilian’s breath was hard, and hot.

“S-sorry—”

“It’s fine, just, give, gimme a second,” Tilian mumbled, grasping once more at Jon’s dick, clearly intent to finish what he started. Jon felt himself get overwhelmed once again at Tilian’s inebriated dedication.

Tilian eagerly took Jon back into his mouth, picking his pace up. Jon was just enamored, overwhelmed, at Tilian, his lips soft, his face so warm. Jon pulled hard at Tilian’s hair once more, eliciting a soft sigh from the other man. Jon used his leverage more aggressively, thrusting hard into Tilian’s mouth. Jon wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but the latter man let out a needy moan, the involuntary sound bringing Jon to come. He pulled Tilian away quickly, hoping to avoid his mouth; a majority of it ended up on Tilian’s face, and the front of his shirt. Tilian held his mouth open, more so perhaps to make Jon laugh at the image than to actually get a mouthful of cum, but Jon could see, in a brief moment, a good amount on his tongue, causing him to cringe when Tilian swallowed it. He stared down at the other man in a daze. He swallowed hard.

“Fuck, sorry about your shirt, dude,” Jon stammered.

Tilian sat back, wiping at his face once again. He looked up at Jon, apparently spent.

“No, it’s—” Tilian laughed, “that was fun.” He glanced away for a moment, smiling wryly.

“Y-yeah?” Jon looked at him in confusion.

Tilian met his eyes. “Cum doesn’t taste _that_ bad… you always make such a big deal about it.”

“Fuck off.”

Tilian chuckled again, quietly. He appeared a little bit more together, but clearly he wasn’t all the way there, still. Jon continued.

“Well, you’re looking like a real mess, anyway.”

Tilian’s eyes widened suddenly. “No, that’s, that’s,” Tilian suddenly couldn’t stop laughing, his words falling into giggles every other second. “That’s _you_!”

Jon just looked down at him, his heart pounding in his chest. Tilian’s relentless quiet laughter filled Jon with emotion.

“Uh, yeah,” he started, “that’s right, I guess.”

Jon leaned down, looping his arms underneath Tilian’s, helping the latter to his feet. Jon held him for a few moments, and took another to look up at Tilian, his sweaty hair fallen over his face, eyes half-closed from exhaustion, his shirt covered in cum.

“In all honesty, though, you do look fucked up,” Jon said with a grin.

“I figured,” Tilian mused, sing-song. His warm smile was making Jon feel like he was on a cloud.

Jon slipped his jacket off, hoping to remedy at least some of those issues. Tilian awkwardly attempted to get it on, himself, but his sloppy efforts made it clear to Jon that the other man was still too high to function properly. Jon clumsily helped him get it on.

Although Jon obviously knew that Tilian wasn’t _that_ much larger than him (most of his height was in his legs, and after all, they shared shirts all the time), it still surprised him a small bit to see his jacket fit Tilian so well. That was, aside from around the arms, which seemed strained by Tilian’s biceps. It didn’t hurt to see _that_ much, but it was somewhat irritating to see the difference in their physiques made so blatant.

During Jon’s thoughts, Tilian stared vacantly down at the other man, smiling still. Jon reached up to pull the hood over Tilian’s head, intent to hide at least some of the damage to his hair, and the exhaustion on his face. As he pulled his hands down, Tilian grabbed at them, resting his chin in Jon’s hands. Jon’s breath caught in his throat at the sudden affection. He brushed softly at Tilian’s cheek with his thumb. Tilian leaned forward, touching their foreheads together, closing his eyes.

And they stood that way, for a long moment.

Jon could feel Tilian’s warmth on his face, in his hands, in his body, reverberating madly inside of him.

Tilian cleared his throat, yawning.

“I’m really sleepy, now,” he murmured.

Jon nodded, opening his eyes to peek at Tilian’s tired face. The latter’s eyes fluttered gently—Jon realized Tilian was looking down at the ground, rather than keeping them closed, this whole time. Jon gently squeezed Tilian’s cheek, causing Tilian to laugh softly.

Jon let out a breath. “You wanna go?”

“Yeah,” Tilian whispered, pressing into him gently, still smiling wide.

They returned to a party seemingly unhindered by the passage of time—nor their momentary absence—that was still going just as strong as before. Jon lead Tilian by his hand through the throngs, the latter keeping his head low and covered. Jon hoped as few people as possible noticed it was Tilian at all, even with his obvious stature.

A man just behind them grabbed Jon by the front of his shirt, nastily and suddenly, giving Jon a momentary, alarming spike of anxiety. Jon turned around, maybe a little too fast. Tilian, of course, didn’t notice much of anything amiss at all, holding tight onto Jon’s hand through his haze. Jon paused, staring at the man (fashionably dressed in a generic T-shirt, jeans, and a… backwards baseball cap?) as the latter took a long drink of his beer before explaining himself.

_Wait, who’s this guy?_

Jon suddenly had a realization, put out of his mind from the past few hours’ antics.

_I don’t remember who invited me here. Is this guy the host? Shit._

Jon braced himself for his reprobation.

Tilian swung their hands, meanwhile.

“Yo!” The man yelled a little too loud, even against the din of the party. “You guys leavin’ already?!” He looked vacantly, but enthusiastically at the two.

_He doesn’t know who we are at all._

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Jon started, putting on what he hoped was a normal face for the occasion. “My uh, friend here—” he gestured to Tilian, “he got a little too messed up, is all, and I’m his ride, so… y’know.”

Tilian smiled sheepishly, giving a small wave. Jon hoped it wasn’t too apparent from an outside perspective, but Tilian was holding onto his hand with a vice grip. He figured it was the only thing keeping the swaying, wobbling man grounded. Tilian let out a chuckle.

“You know how it is, shit happens,” Tilian said with a giggle, a little too quietly, to where Jon himself could barely hear it. The man in front of them didn’t seem to notice anything odd about Tilian’s behavior, his expression still openly vivacious.

“Awww well, man,” the guy gave Tilian a once-over, squinting. “It’s pretty obvious. Good on you for being such a bro, taking care of him.”

Jon felt himself flush. “Yeah, a bro,” he said, swallowing. “Anyway, seeya around.” Jon looked over the man once more. “Great party.”

“Thanks bro,” the man replied, again a little too loudly. “Seeya!”

Jon nodded, a half-formed smile dripping off his face as he turned to leave, his companion in tow. Tilian beamed up at the man, suddenly. He waved heartily.

“Bye-aye!”

Jon pulled at him sharply, eventually succeeding in dragging him out towards his car. Tilian stepped carefully behind him, his fingers laced in Jon’s. Tilian was softly humming a song, though Jon wasn’t sure if he recognized it, or if Tilian made it up on the spot. He glanced back, Tilian’s wobbly smile forcing one onto Jon’s face as well.

Jon had to help Tilian into the car (something about his high obviously made the mechanisms of his geometry harder to grasp), and by the time Jon had walked himself around to the driver’s seat, Tilian had pulled his legs up to his chest, his arms around them, and the neck of Jon’s jacket over his mouth. He had closed his eyes.

Jon scoffed softly in amusement. “Comfy?”

Tilian nodded slowly. “Mmhmm.”

A pause. Jon felt himself staring intently at the tuft of Tilian’s hair peeking out from underneath the hood.

“Like the jacket?”

The grin itself was imperceptible, but the corners of Tilian’s eyes showed his obvious approval.

“It smells like you.”

Jon felt his heart skip a beat. He opened his mouth to respond, a short breath being the only thing escaping. He closed it, smiled, and let out a snort.

“That’s pretty gross. You should see a doctor about that.”

“Don’t need to fix what isn’t broken,” Tilian’s voice fell to a whisper, muffled underneath the neck of the jacket.

Jon reached over the console, placing his hand on top of Tilian’s. Soon, Tilian’s breathing slowed, the high finally knocking him out cold. Jon kept his gaze on the other man for another minute, peering over him in the low light.

Jon started the car, releasing Tilian’s hand, finally heading home.


End file.
